Archdemon Lullaby
by GorimJr
Summary: Ten years after Morrigan sought out Alistair after Loghain was spared, the Hero of Ferelden is taken by the Darkspawn, led by an angry Old God. Morrigan, Alistair, Loghain, and the God Child venture into the Deep Roads to save her from corruption.
1. Chapter 1

The inn was seedy, nestled in the darker streets of a southern city. The clientele seemed less than honorable, and the smell was something to behold. The witch was quite certain that rats avoided the place because of the smell of congealing vomit and blood.

It wasn't a place she expected to find Alistair in. Yet here she was.

Morrigan approached the bar slowly and cautiously. Alistair was probably not in the best of moods, and he was tart with her on a good day. She didn't respect him personally, but she knew that he was no slouch with a sword. And being run through would kill her just as thoroughly as it would any other human being.

The man was hunched over a mug of ale, staring down into its murky depths intently. It had been mere weeks since _she_ had spared Loghain and allowed him to become a Grey Warden, and already he had taken to first step towards being a drunken wretch. Morrigan was disgusted. But she was also desperate for the godchild, and desperate to save her friend.

"Alistair," she said coolly. "I see you wasted no time heading for the nearest tavern."

"Shut up." The retort was weak and pitiful.

"That's all? I expected so much more from you," she said mockingly. Alistair didn't grace her with a glance, much less a response. She sat down at the bar next to him, gazing at his expression out of the corner of her eye, and his condition. He had dark circles under his eyes, deep as bruises, a testament to how little he'd slept since he'd abandoned his duty. He hadn't shaved since he left either. Or changed his clothes, or bathed.

He was betrayed. Angry. And hurting. She almost felt bad for taking advantage of his pain, but then she remembered that he was a whiny ass, and all her pity vanished.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here instead of helping your fellow Grey Warden?" Morrigan said with a smirk. Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a Grey Warden anymore," he snarled. "But frankly, I always knew you'd betray her eventually."

"On the contrary," Morrigan said, her smirk widening. "If you had joined us to Redcliffe, you would have heard the news." Alistair finally glanced at her, confused.

"What news?" He asked reluctantly.

"For the Blight to end and the Archdemon to be slain, a Grey Warden must sacrifice herself. The soul of the Archdemon will enter the body of the Warden, following the echo of the tainted blood she drank, and the souls will negate each other. In short, the Grey Warden will die." She watched his reaction carefully. He went pale, his eyes widening, a look of horror shattering his careful show of disinterest. Briefly, Morrigan saw fear flicker across his face, fear for the Dalish elf that won his heart, and guilt, for leaving her to the wolves the way he did (or Blight Wolves, as he case may be). But then he remembered something, and scowled.

"Let Loghain sacrifice himself," he said darkly. "As if that's any sacrifice at all."

This was it. If he didn't believe this lie, all hope for her plans was lost. Sighing, she looked away from him, concern on her face.

"That was the plan," she said slowly. "But the soldiers don't trust him. They insisted he stay behind, at the gates. It will most certainly be Andrull Mahariel who deals the final blow and sacrifices herself." She watched him closely and saw that he'd fallen for it, hook line and sinker. In reality, the plan had been that Loghain deal the final blow. Andrull had been willing to go through with the ritual, but had returned with the news that Loghain had refused. Morrigan had had no choice but to leave, though Alistair was her last resort.

"Why are you telling me this?" Alistair whispered, his voice breaking. "Are you trying to make me regret my decision? I already do. You're wasting your time."

"Actually, I came with an offer," she said, almost gently. "There is a way, you see. To save her life." Alistair glanced up, startled. "One that does not require the death of any Grey Warden." Alistair frowned slightly, and then nodded.

"I'm listening," he said quietly. Morrigan smiled inwardly at his obvious desperation. Willing to set aside his distrust of her, a feeling so intense that it bordered on hatred, to save the woman he loved.

"From what I understand, the Horde is approaching Denerim with the Archdemon leading it," Morrigan explained. "The armies are chasing it, and they will arrive at the capital tomorrow. What I propose is this. A ritual, preformed in the dark of night, tonight." Alistair frowned.

"What kind of ritual?" He asked slowly. Morrigan smiled slightly.

"A magic one," she said slyly. Alistair chuckled reluctantly, and she continued before he could repeat his question. "The ritual is a straightforward one. You will lay with me-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alistair said quickly. "Not that I don't absolutely relish the thought of sex with you, but what does that have to do with the Archdemon?" Morrigan considered it, than made a choice.

"From the union, a child will be conceived," she explained. Alistair's jaw dropped slightly. "The child will bear the Taint, inherited from you, and when the Archdemon dies, its soul will go to the child, instead of Andrull. At the early stage, the child will not die. Instead, the souls will mesh, and the child will be changed." Alistair swallowed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Let me get this straight," he said quietly. "You want me to impregnate you in a sex ritual?" Morrigan nodded.

"Impressive nutshelling," she commended him. Alistair shook his head.

"No. That's just… No." He turned away from her, back to his mug. Morrigan scowled.

"If you don't, she will die tomorrow." Alistair flinched, his face contorting in pain. "You already abandoned her, Alistair. If you refuse this, you condemn her to die as well." Alistair took another deep, shaky breath through his nose, his jaw clenched.

"I hate you," he whispered. Morrigan inclined her head gravely.

"I can understand that. Do we have an arrangement?" Alistair's hands tightened around the mug, his fingers pressing against the sides so hard that the tips became white. His eyes shut tight and he suddenly lifted the mug, drinking the last of its contents.

"Yes," he said, placing the mug back onto the bar. "But I'll never forgive you."

"For what?" Morrigan asked. "Saving Andrull's life? At least I cared enough to stay when she did things I didn't like." Alistair turned and glared, his eyes like ice.

"I hate you," he said with remarkable passion, the same amount of passion she'd heard in his voice when he told Andrull that he loved her. Morrigan sighed.

"I know."

--

Alistair woke up the next morning entangled in the rough sheets of the bed, staring up at the ceiling of the room, alone. Just as well. He didn't want to face the golden-eyed witch after that night. The ritual was done, and Andrull would be safe.

It was the least he could do after what he did.

Catching the thought, he scowled and spat. What he did? She allowed Loghain to live after what he did. She spared him and made him a Warden, besmirching the memory of every brother and sister who died at Ostagar. He no longer owed her any loyalty, any love.

Yet he'd slept with Morrigan to save her.

He held his head in his hands, swallowing a sob that threatened to burst out of his throat. Regardless of her actions, he regretted his own. He regretted leaving and abandoning her. The look on her face when he left was burned in his memory. Anger, grief, confusion, and so many other, nameless emotions had battled for dominance on her face as he turned his back on her and left.

He'd let Loghain take everything he cared about: Duncan, his being a Grey Warden, and the love of his life.

And there was nothing he could do about it. He'd made his decision, rash as it was, and there was no going back.

Tears stung his eyes and he swiped at them angrily, cursing under his breath.

It was too late. He couldn't go back. Even if he did, he would be too late; the battle would be over by the time he got there. And the damage was done. He'd turned his back on the Grey Wardens, on the friends he'd made over the course of his travels, and on Andrull. He would have to deal with the consequences.

He got up, got dressed, and went downstairs to the bar for a drink.

--

The Archdemon was vanquished. Alistair heard, from the gossipers scattered around Ferelden, that Anora was made queen and Loghain was a major recruiter for the Grey Wardens. The Hero of Ferelden returned to her clan, and the Dalish, in recognition of their efforts against the Blight, were granted their own land. Andruil's companions went their separate ways, back to their homelands or on their own adventures.

Alistair, for the most part, was forgotten.

None of his former friends sought him out, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He left Ferelden, heading west into Orlais. There, he wandered from tavern to tavern, accruing debts until he was forced to flee. Attempting to drown his sorrows in bad liquor failed miserably, and the memory of Andrull's heartbroken face as he left her remained burned in his heart.

Ten winters blanketed Thedas. Ten summers filled the world with the sound of insects and laughter. Alistair wandered, numbed by pain and ale.

Until a golden-eyed witch and a young boy found him.


	2. Chapter 2

**A quick thank you to all those who added this story to story alert, and to the lone reviewer. Don't be scared to review! It actually reminds me to post! I hope you like it!**

The woman standing over him was familiar. Very familiar, though she'd changed enough to make him wonder. What he remembered was a tall, cold, pale woman, her hair tied back, wearing clothes that showed an almost indecent amount of skin (scratch the almost bit; every time he looked at her he asked the Maker and His Bride for forgiveness).

This woman wasn't quite so pale. While the clothes were the same, now there was a hood that shadowed her features slightly. Her hair was longer and ten years had taken a vague toll on her. She was still beautiful, though.

Her eyes were still cat-gold and cool as she stared down at him with a fair amount of disgust. "Are you sure we need him?" She asked the room. "He's a drunk, a worthless drunk."

Alistair would have had a witty retort to throw back at her, but his brains were effectively turned to mush, so he settled with what he hoped was a withering glare.

"He is," a voice from across the room, out of his field of vision, agreed. "But Fate had a plan for him. He's drunk but he's still a fighter, see?"

"A sell-sword," Morrigan protested, turning to look behind her. "Not a knight. Not a Templar."

"It doesn't matter. Time will help him get back to who he was. This will offer… closure." Morrigan snorted in amusement.

"The knight I knew is far cry from this lump. I remember when he would have woken to the smallest noise in camp." She sighed almost mournfully and then scowled. "But he's either drunk or hungover right now. He's not even able to stand or speak."

"I can fix that." Alistair blinked furiously, his head pounding awfully as a small figure stepped into his field of vision from behind Morrigan. The child was no older than ten, but no younger than nine, and a cloak, coupled with Alistair's blurred, doubling vision, made his features obscured. Alistair felt a small hand on his shoulder and strange warmth spread from the touch. "I'd get out of the way, Mother. He'll be a bit sick for a bit." Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Morrigan step back several steps…

And then his vision cleared sharply and his stomach heaved. Scrambling to his feet and stumbling across the room to the window, he leaned out of the window and puked out all the contents of his stomach. Heaving violently for minutes on end, he finally slumped, clutching the sill of the window.

"That was entertaining." Morrigan said cheerfully. "Well now, Alistair, I do hope you haven't forgotten me." Alistair turned, startled by the clarity of his vision. It was a luxury he hadn't had for several months. Morrigan stood there, still beautiful and young looking. Ten years had done nothing to her looks.

Next to her stood the child. It was difficult to tell whether the child was a boy or girl. The child had an androgynous beauty that made it nearly impossible to tell. The child's eyes were yellow, like Morrigan's, but the hair on the child's head was the same dark blond as Alistair's. A small, amused smile graced the child's features.

"I greet you, Father," the child said mildly.

"You're…" Alistair rasped, his throat dry.

"This is your son, Alistair," Morrigan said, her long fingered hand resting on the child's shoulder. "Urthemiel."

"Why are you here?" The former Grey Warden asked weakly. "You said I would never see you again. I was looking forward to that." Morrigan laughed, a surprisingly deep, rich sound.

"I too was looking forward to that. But it appears Urthemiel has different plans," she chuckled.

"You will come with us, Father." The godchild said softly. "We will leave Orlias, and seek a Dalish clan. From there, we will head to Denerim." Alistair stared at the child. His voice was like any other child's, but it rang with hundreds of thousands of years of maturity and power. This was no child. In all likelihood it never had been. Morrigan had given birth to a god.

"Why?" Alistair asked angrily. "Why do I have to go with you?" Urthemiel sighed rather impatiently.

"I will explain. And once we reach Denerim, all will be made clear. But you must go there with us. Alright? Yes? Good. Then come." With that, the child turned on his heel and stepped out of the room, leaving the two former comrades alone.

"So, that's him then?" Alistair said dryly. "The godchild?"

"Yes," Morrigan said quietly. "Remarkable, isn't he? Only nine and he possesses more knowledge than I." Alistair frowned. "And more common sense then you ever will in your lifetime." Alistair rolled his eyes.

"There it is. The insult I've been waiting for." Morrigan smiled indulgently.

"It was only a matter of time, Alistair. I was just waiting for it to be a surprise," she said. "Well then, we shouldn't keep our child waiting, should we? Get your gear and come."

--

At camp that night, Urthemiel watched the man who had, with Morrigan, given him life. He had had a beard and long hair when they found him, but he combined efforts with Morrigan and convinced him to get a haircut. He was now recognizable as the man from Morrigan's memories: a handsome, sarcastic, compassionate knight who loved passionately, and hated passionately as well.

The boy sighed. When he touched Alistair, he had felt echoes of memories and feelings from the past. The bitterness and pain Alistair had felt in the months after Andrull's "betrayal" had all but disappeared. He had healed from his wounds, to an extent, and now all he needed was forgiveness from the woman he loved, and a chance to forgive in turn. Drunkenness seemed to only be a habit now, with no real purpose or satisfaction behind it.

The man sat next to him, gnawing determinedly at a large piece of cheese. His shield and sword were strapped to his back, and his armor shone from its recent polish. Morrigan sat on the other side of the fire, tending to meat of questionable origin.

"So," Alistair said abruptly, surprising Urthemiel out of his reverie and tossing him a chunk of cheese. "You're a god, are you?" Urthemiel smiled slightly.

"Kind of. I can't exactly breathe fire, or turn water into ale for you or Oghren. But I can use magic, and I remember." He took a bite of the cheese and, as he chewed, looked at it with surprise. It was good.

"Remember?" Alistair asked interestedly. "Remember what? You're previous life, before the sleep and the Taint?" Urthemiel nodded.

"But it's not as if I did it. It's like seeing it through someone else's eyes. Very strange, fantastical memories of flying." He took another bite of the cheese and chewed slowly, staring into the fire.

"What's the first memory you have?" Alistair asked curiously. Morrigan scowled.

"Why do you ask such questions, Alistair? What does it matter to you?" She jabbed at the fire with a stick, sending sparks up to the heavens like fireflies.

"It matters!" Alistair protested. "It matters a lot…" He looked sheepish and embarrassed. Urthemiel smiled.

"It's no trouble. My first memory is being in Mother's womb." He smiled at Alistair's stunned look, then blinked as his father scowled.

"You're making fun of me," he muttered. Urthemiel shook his head.

"I'm not. My first memory is dark and warm, with Mother saying 'wake up.' I can only assume it's the womb. Unless you have a more plausible explanation?" Alistair stared at the boy helplessly, and Urthemiel laughed. "I thought not. That's where I learned of you and Mother, of Leliana and Sten, of Wynne and Zevran." He glanced at his father. "And of Andrull, of course." Alistair sighed sadly.

"What did you think of her?" Urthemiel smiled at his father.

"She's beautiful. She's smart. And she's innocent, regardless of her actions. And…" He bit in inside of his cheek and then committed himself. "She loved you. Very much." Alistair flinched and his jaw clenched.

"I think I'll go to bed early," he said weakly, standing. "Good night, Urthemiel. Good night, Witch," the knight said.

"Good night, King of Fools," the golden eyed witch said.

"Good night, Father," the godchild said quietly, and the knight stooped into his tent and, the minute they could no longer see him, held his head in his hands and thought of the Dalish elf who loved him.


End file.
